Zeke Miles
by Vanbuscus
Summary: Just posting this to see if it gets any bites. It won't but whatever. Takes place after AC3 after Desmond dies.


Dirty, dank, and deserted, the halls of Eastpointe High School were filled with only one stirring creature, apart from the various vermin ever encroaching upon the sleepy students. Zeke Miles was again skipping class, unable to tolerate the unending boredom of his World History lesson.  
Large for his age, a meager fifteen, Zeke apparently took after his father. Short dark hair, brown hair; he wasn't anything special. He didn't think of himself as special either, especially since his father had disappeared when he was only five.  
Approaching his locker, he grunted in disdain; it wasn't his fault he'd been placed in a crappy high school, or that his mother was unable to pay the electricity bill because the 3 jobs she had just were never enough. Zeke never really blamed his father for the disappearance. He knew something must have happened, because even though he'd been as young as five, he knew better than anyone how much his dad loved him mom.  
"Skiving off class again, Zekey?" Zeke closed his eyes, irritated.  
"Shove off, Darian." Sliding his backpack over his arms, he cantered off, towards the dusty double doors at the other end of the hallway.  
"Third time this week you've skipped history. Wot, got something against China?"  
"Perhaps. The fact that they own us may be one" Darian laughed, and hopped down from the banister he was sitting on.  
"Still obsessed with climbing through the school like some sort of mutated monkey, hm?" Zeke questioned, glancing sideways at Darian, who was twiddling his thumbs in a bored sort of way. Darian in turn looked at him, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.  
"Yes. Have you ever tried exploring when you skip classes? The place is huge, old, and fascinating. Found an old bomb shelter a while back." He yawned hugely, and backed into the hold wooden doors with Zeke. They groaned as they were pushed open, aching in their age.  
Darian Cruz was Zeke's only good friend, and a bit of an annoyance. Riddled with younger brothers and sisters, he frequently skipped class to either go to work or just get some time alone. Zeke had been in more than his share of tough spots when Darian was concerned; and he was grateful. It was hard finding a friend when people were afraid to be your friend.  
"What's your excuse this time?"  
"Huh?"  
"Skipping class, dipshit."

"I…just needed some fresh air."

"The dusty halls of this piece of shit can hardly qualify as fresh air, Darian."

They had reached the first intersection between Yankee and Jordan. Pressing the button to cross, Zeke readjusted his backpack. Darian looked at him with an almost…concerned expression.  
"What?" Zeke scowled. He was used to pity. His teachers, his classmates, the social workers who he had to see every trimester…They always looked at him with that same look of concern and sadness, and he was damn sick of it. So what if his dad had "Walked out." Because that's what they called it! Desmond had just "walked out" of Zeke's life like some sort of low life, leaving him and his mother foraging on the ground for food scraps.  
No. That's not what happened. Zeke was sure his father…Desmond…had been kidnapped. But it had been so long…so freaking long…  
"Nothing…I'm just curious if you've heard anything about your father?"  
"No, Darian. Just drop it."  
"Zeke…I was in the mall yesterday. Ya' know, with my siblings…"  
"Nother one of your stories?" Zeke groaned, passing by an old downtrodden Oldsmobile that seemed to sag with a mixture of neglect and age. He knew how it felt.  
"No…just listen to me, damnit!" He spat, running in front of Zeke, his eyes angry. Zeke stopped in his tracks. Not once had Darian ever gotten this heated. He was a pretty easy going fellow, which is why they made such a good pair.  
"Ok…if it's so important, just tell me. I'm listening."  
Darian glared, but continued, his light brown skin shadowing in the afternoon sun.  
"Like I said, I was in the mall, watching my siblings. We passed by this…I dunno, guard post. Some shady fellows there, there was. I didn't want us to linger, but the name 'Miles' lured me in."  
Zeke's ears were now pricked with interest, and he nodded for Darian to go on.  
"They were saying they were looking for Victoria Rush and her son. 'dn't say your name or nothing, but I know your mum. Mentioned your dad, too."  
"What?!" Zeke cried, slapping his hands onto Darian's shoulders, who's eyed widened in alarm.  
"What else did they say? Tell me!" He ordered. Darian wrenched himself free, backing up, but proceeded, his eyes wane.  
"They mentioned that Desmond was long dead and they were looking for some guy named Shaun. Said somethin' about a Rebecca and a William, too."  
Zeke's mind raced with a mixture of fear and revelation. His father was dead…Sadness threated to overwhelm him in for a split second, but he swallowed it. It was better then way, knowing rather than not knowing. Still…how did he die? And why were these strange men looking for his mother?  
"What mall were you at?" Zeke questioned, a sudden fear gripping his intestines.  
Darian read his mind. Eyes widening, he nodded. "East…pointe…"  
Zeke mind reeled with dread. Without thinking, he ran, leaving Darian far behind in a cloud of pavement dust. Darian shouted after him, and in a second, was at his side.

"You know, you could have told me this earlier!" Zeke panted, leaping over the fence to the playground that separated the commercial district of their shabby city from the residential one. Darian groaned, pushing aside bushes to catch up with Zeke, who free ran past swings and leaped over bouncy ponies.  
"It slipped my mind, old buddy. And how in God's name do you run so fast?" He panted, holding his sides and Zeke slowed to a stop in front of his towering apartment complex. Zeke eyed Darian.  
"Can you do me a favor and take the back way?" He suggested, eyeing the underground parking lot. Tire tracks that hadn't been there the night before gleamed in the daylight. Something was up.  
"Sure. Just don't make me do anymore runnin'." Darian scowled, and hopped over the deteriorating fence separating the front from the back. Zeke adjusted his pack once more, and pinning his number into the small box next to the building, headed inside.  
Like everything in his life, this building wasn't much better than his school. Eastpointe was a small Minneapolis suburb, known for its shabbiness. Once again, Zeke could have blamed his father here. They had lived in a cozy apartment in New York before he had been kidnapped, and had to move to Minnesota just to make ends meet. Zeke couldn't however. It wasn't his dads fault. He was determined to stand by that now. He crept up the moldy stairs, passing moth eaten paintings and peeling wallpaper, and a seemingly never ending amount of rooms. Their apartment was on the eighth floor, and, just his luck, the building lacked an elevator. He continued upstairs, not daring to take a breath. Muffled voices could be heard from inside some of the rooms. One leaked the distinct odor of sherry and tequila, the smells mingling together to make his nose wrinkle. His neighbors were a disgusting lot.  
Finally, he reached his destination. Darian had climbed through the hallway window, it seemed.  
"You climbed all the way up here?" Zeke sputtered, enthralled. Darian nodded, a smirk playing across his lips. "Wasn't that hard."  
"C'mon." Zeke muttered, crossing over to his door. Black, with a peeling letter 41 across the front, the door seemed undisturbed. If his mother was home, she'd be in the kitchen, cooking their dinner. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard the kettle singing and a female voice ringing with laughter.  
"So we ran this entire fucking way for nothing, eh?" Darian spat, slamming his fist on the door. Zeke wanted to laugh. His mother was alright!  
"Hey, it was a legitimate concern. You gotta show me how you climbed the building sometime!"  
He unlocked the door, and ran into the kitchen to hug his mom. While the rest of the building was disgusting, his mother tried her best to keep it clean and welcoming. Fresh flowers kept the living room smelling fresh, and the furniture, very second hand, was patched and lacked frays. The walls were clean and various pieces of art, usually Zeke's old school projects hung from its surface, adding bright splashes of color to the brown. While small, it was home.  
"A hug? What's the occasion?" His mother laughed, hugging Zeke back. He grinned, looking down at her. "School was crappy. What's for dinner? Oh and Darian is over."  
"Oh, is he? Just the usual. Beef Stew." He eyed the can of Dinty Moor on the counter, and inside his stomach twisted. He was so sick of the stuff, but he couldn't complain. They couldn't afford fresh food right from the deli every night. Sometimes they splurged and cooked something nice, like a real beef stew or a chicken dinner, but only when times weren't tough.  
"Yes. Can he stay for dinner? Do we…have enough?" She nodded, smiling broadly.  
"Got plenty enough for Darian."  
Hearing his name, Darian banged into the room, a grin spreading across his face.  
"I smell something cooking! What is it tonight?"  
"Beef Stew." Zeke tried to stay cheerful, but the stress of the day, the run, came over him, and he ran to him room. Slamming the door, he deposited his backpack on the dresser, plummeting on the bed the next second, taking in the smells of his pillow.  
He was sick of it. Sick of the constant stress of his life. Sick of the poverty and the lack of a normal childhood and adolescence. He turned over, gazing up at the yellowing ceiling and posters he'd taped up. What had it all meant? Who was this Shaun guy? And Rebecca? William? Why were they talking about his Mother? She worked 3 jobs, one as a waitress at a diner, the next as a grocer clerk, and the third as an intern; she wasn't wanted. She definitely wasn't a criminal! His mind wandered. Maybe…maybe it had to do with his dad. Darian had said they proclaimed him dead. Why? How? It was so confusing. Was he some sort of criminal? Is that why he had been kidnapped? Zeke groaned, covering his eyes with his palms, massaging them until all he saw was blackness.  
His mother was safe. He would be eating fatty, processed, stew in a few minutes, alongside Darian. All was well. But then what was that gnawing feeling in the back of skull about? It kept striking him with unease…

END OF CHAPTER ONE BITCHES

Zeke shouldered his backpack as he walked through the halls, bumping into groups of students and cliques that just had to congregate in the middle of the hallway. Retorts and angry insults flew his way, but he had perfected the art of ignoring it years ago. Last night, despite all the fear and stress, he finally managed to sleep. The last thought on his mind was that he was a wanted man, and that still ate into his mind as he entered the threshold into first hour. He saw his name writing in red chalk across the blackboard, with insults written in white around it. This happened every other day, it seemed. He was called a loser, a creep, and a freak. He figured it was because he was aloof about everything, or his shabby second hand clothes. He felt right now, with this giant weight on his shoulders, he didn't want to deal with it.  
Immediately, he turned and left, scowling. He was sick of it. Sick of the bullying and the whining and the complaining. The insults and the sneers. Jogging through the corridors, he entered a small janitorial hallway, ducking under a taped sign that read "DO NOT CROSS: DANGER." Darkness crept over him, and he closed his eyes, a smile creasing his lips.  
Really. They should know better. They were just as poor as he, just as down trodden by society. Many of the students in that class, actually, were much worse off. Many of them didn't have mothers or fathers, and if they did, they were in and out of their lives like ghosts. However, they took all this pain and misery out on him.  
Sitting down on a bank of steps that led into the forbidden and dangerous upper stories of the building, he placed his head in hands and fought back a scream. What was it? That gnawing feeling in the back of his head? His thinking was interrupted by a loud bang from the other side of the hallway, and he instinctively raised his fist in alarm.  
"Whoa dude. Just me. I keep tripping over this damn trombone."  
Zeke smiled weakly. "Skipped too?"  
"Those girls…they just can't get enough of rubbing it in that my 13 year old sister is pregnant, can they." Darian again tripped over a cord, and fell, visibly bruising his knees.  
"We couldn't have picked a better spot to be shady, could we."  
"What's so shady about this. Tell me." Zeke growled, running his fingers through the developing dust on the railing.  
"We ain't supposed to be here, for one." Zeke rolled his eyes. His eyes trailed up the spiral staircase that climbed into the gloom.  
"Do ya know where that leads, Darian?" Zeke questioned, sliding his pack off his shoulders and peering up. Despite his feelings of dishevelment, he really had the urge to climb. To break free. Too soar.  
"I really dunno. I think the upper levels."  
"But you've climbed the entire building!"  
"West side, not the east side, which is where we hang out." Zeke dumped his backpack onto the dusty floor. "C'mon, we're seeing where this goes." Darian groaned, grabbing a flashlight from his bag.  
He didn't really know why he was climbing this deprecated old building. Only that he knew working with his hands and his body calmed his mind, and erased thoughts of doubt and fear. Stepping carefully up the first couple of steps, he ran his hand along the railing. It came back a dark grey.  
"I think the dust in this place will kill us before the floorboards do." Darian remarked. Zeke smiled, his tentative steps gaining more confidence as he climbed the staircase faster. The landing was just as dirty and dark as the corridor below.  
"Darian, gimme your flashlight for a sec."  
"I can't fucking see you how am I supposed to give you the flashlight."  
"Turn it on?"  
"Oh."  
A swath of light cut through the gloom, illuminating a passage directly above them. A corroding air vent, only accessible from balancing on a few rotting wooden beams, lay above them. The rest was a moldy corridor, filled with rusty carts and the smell of decay. The staircase to the next level was a few feet to the side, but it had caved in several years before. The only way up was the air vent.  
Zeke twitched his nose. "Smells bad."  
Darian squealed with suppressed mirth. "You're just saying that now?" Zeke looked back at him with a look of such disdain, Darian fell silent.  
"We need to find a way into that vent. It's the only way up." Zeke jumped up a beam, deftly grabbing unto the slippery wood above, ignoring the feel of mold and that creeping sense of the fact they really shouldn't be doing this. Pulling himself up, he catwalked across the beams, his arms out for balance, his teeth biting into his lips.  
"Buddy. I don't think I can do this. Not in the dark."  
How was Zeke even doing this? He could see the vent very clearly, as if a yellow outline shone around it, illuminating the way.  
"Then turn back. I don't care." He was surprised by how cold he sounded; but he was sick of people running out on him. All his life, people ran out, abandoning him and his mother. His father. His grand parents. The counselors at school. Even some of the small friends he'd made in Middle School. Gone.  
"Bro, I'm not leaving you here to fall."  
"I won't fall, Darian. I can't fall, I…" He trailed off as he approached the last beam, and taking a jump, grabbed the vent entrance by the tips of his fingers. A loud clang announced his arrival into the vent.  
"What was that?!" Darian screeched, shining the flashlight in the direction of the sound.  
"How did you get up there? You're fucking crazy!" Darian hollered, stamping his feet and grabbing unto a beam himself. Zeke smiled. Darian was super competeitive. He always had to win. Not this time.  
"I imagine this leads outside. Remember that bell tower at the top of the school?"  
"Yeah, who the fuck uses Bell towers anymore? This school sure is ancient."  
"Funny, how old Schools are always the ones for us types of kids to go." Zeke grimaced, watching Darian intently. He had a fuzzy, almost shimmering golden outline around him. In fact, everything was illuminated this way. He blinked once, twice, three times. Still no change. He smiled slightly. He had super vision!  
"How can you see me? How can you see at all?" Darian groaned, gripping the flashlight precariously as he held on to the sides of the vent. It groaned as his weight was added. Helping him up, Zeke answered, albeit warily.  
"I'm not sure. Just…certain things glow yellow." He turned around, and crept down the corridor, ignoring snorts of derision from Darian.  
"They glow yellow, do they? I think you just have good vision, Zeke." "Maybe…" He didn't want to talk. He wanted to think. Lightly pressing his hands against the metal grating, smelling the tangy smell of rust and steel, he pushed his way through the veins of the building, listening to the grunts and soft moans as the steel underneath him stressed. He thought about what had bugged him last night as he slept. He thought about the dreams he had, of the woman in gold with stiff brown hair, calling to him. He had even dreamed of his father. Trapped in a strange machine. Unable to escape. Zeke shook his head. Those were just dreams.  
"Darian, have you heard anything else about what those guys were talking about? About…" He swallowed, taking in some metallic dust as he did so. "My mother?" He coughed. He felt, rather than saw, Darian shook his head.  
"Naw. I've been laying low. That run you put me through really took a lot out of me." Darian breathed, panting slightly. The air in the duct was foul, and Zeke himself was started to gag with the fumes.  
"Almost…there." He gritted his teeth, accidently hitting his head on the dead end of the duct.  
"What? We hit a dead end! You said it leads to the outside!" Darian whined. He sat down, crosslegged in the duct, staring at Zeke with derision.  
"I know…wait." He took a look at the barrier. It was steel, but grated, covered in many years of dirt and grime. Wiping at it with his sleeve, sunlight filtered in the gloomy shaft in bright streams, paining their eyes. A fresh breeze accompanied it, pulling a smile on Zeke's face and a gasp of delight from Darian.  
"You did find it!"  
Zeke rolled his eyes. "Did you ever really doubt me?" Slamming his shoulder in the grate, it gave way, tumbling to earth and causing Zeke to stumble. Without Darian's quick thinking, he would have been, to put it lightly, roadkill.  
"Don't be dumb. Now get out of the way. I need fresh air." Zeke pulled his way up onto the ledge above them, a tiny little cement barrier preventing him from thin air and the hard ground. Looking up, he saw the bell tower, its belfry empty and lonely in the morning sun. Plenty of handholds and footholds as well, since the tower itself was a crumbling wreck. He'd have to be careful where he put his feet, and laid his hands.  
"Follow my lead. Don't step where I didn't step."  
"I know how ta climb. Shut up."  
Zeke ignored him, and reaching out his hand, began to climb.  
It was a tough job, really. Zeke could feel the stone and brick crumble slightly at his touch, little bits falling away and plummeting down into his eyes and face, but before they could reach he was on to the next one.  
"Funny, I seem to remember you asking me to show you how to climb buildings. It seems like you're doing most of the showin." Darian sighed, leaping from a window grate to a small amount of brick jutting out. Zeke slipped, his feet clawing at the brick walls, but managed to grab hold of the round window near the top of the belfry.  
"Almost…there!" He groaned, reaching up and grabbing the spokes of the window, pulled himself up to the top. Climbing into the small chamber, he peeked out, awestruck by how much he could see. The skyscrapers of Minneapolis could be seen in all their glory, gleaming in the morning sun. His own apartment building, the tallest building in Eastpointe, stuck out shabbily amongst the rows of tree's and pavement, lined with dollar stores and strip clubs. Below him, he heard Darian swear, and looked over just in time for him to grab the ledge and pull himself over.  
"Took ye' long enough." Zeke said, slapping his hand on Darian's shoulder. He rubbed his eyes, flicking him off as he did so.  
Laughing, Zeke remarked. "Look at this view. You can see my building!" He pointed towards the complex. Darian smiled, and pointed at his townhouse.  
"Aha! You can see the pool from here!" The sat there, marveling at how much they now knew of their dusty city. Like the rooftop of Zeke's building actually had a small area where people could tan, and that the strip clubs back alley entrances were overloaded from trash bags.  
"Our city is a shit hole, eh?" Darian remarked, leaning against a banister. The Belfry itself was made up of rusted metal and wooden banisters, bleached from sun and stained from rain and snow. Zeke looked around at him, but noticed something else. Deep inside the pointed tip of the cupola, was a nest. A giant nest.  
"Look!" he pointed, and grabbing hold of one of the metal bars holding the top together, lifted himself up.  
"What is it?" Darian asked. He sounded confused. Zeke didn't know for sure. Pure white feathers littered the nest like bits of snow. A slew of debris from garbage cans was almost sewn into the nest, which was around 6 feet wide. It couldn't be anything other than an eagles nest. He picked up a feather, this one brown, and pocketed it. He'd have to show his mother, who collected feathers from birds around the world.  
Hopping down, he offered the feather to Darian, but was surprised to find that he had moved to the edge of the belfry.  
"Somethin's up at your building, Zeke." Zeke forgot about the feather, dropping it to the ground, rushing over to the side. The sense of fear and foreboding he'd been feeling since last night burst through his chest like a dam, and he struggled to keep himself under control.  
A man, a great scar across his eye so large it could be seen from here exited the building, carrying a bundle in his arms, covered with cloth. A few others flanked him. All were dressed in black. Zeke watched as they entered their black SUVs, knowing that he should be down there, that he should be stopping this. But why?  
He gripped the side of the belfry, looking down. Far beneath him was a large garbage bin, its lid open wide like the mouth of some disgusting creature. Swallowing, he climbed up the side, gripping the ledge of the roof with his fingertips, heart in his mouth. Darian was open mouthed.  
"What in god's name are you doing?" He cried, trying to pull Zeke off, back to safety. He shrugged him off, and leapt into the air, aiming for the bin, trying to not feel the wind in his ears and the pounding of his heart. Fearful thoughts crept into his mind. What if he misaimed? He smiled grimly knowing he would be pulp on the pavement, but before he knew it, he bounced safely into the garbage can, breathing in the smells of rotting food and shaking off maggots. What a leap of faith.  
He could hear obscenities being thrown his way by Darian, who was descending from the tower as fast as he could. Zeke didn't care; he had to make it back to his building. He had this terrible feeling something happened to his mother.  
Extracting himself from the bin, he ran, leaping over gates and dodging past overgrown hedges. At one point he completely jumped over a toddler playing in the sand as he ran across the playground. Ignoring the shouts from the angered parent, he crossed the street just as the SUV pulled away. He crouched, hiding behind a tree as he watched them. Who were they? He looked up at the building. It looked as derelict and dusty as ever. He was beginning to wonder if he should just go barging in; if something did happen to his mother, he should tread carefully.  
He didn't want too! He wanted to go charging in. Maybe those men were just odd visitors from the creepy neighbors to the west. He nodded, but that thought didn't ease the thunder in his heart. He ran to the front door, wrenching it open.  
The smell of rancid body odor and whiskey filled his nostrils; he gagged slightly, covering his mouth as he made his way upstairs. The carpeted stairs were covered with mud; and while far from clean usually, they were at least vacuumed regularly. Forgetting to breathe, he climbed the stairs, his hand to the wall, not daring to make a sound.  
The minute he reached his room, he knew his fears were founded; the door was ajar, and bloody finger prints covered the door frame; as if someone had been dragged out of the room and they had tried to prevent it. He kicked the door open with the toe of his shoe, silent as an owl.  
He knew that day he shouldn't have left to go to school. His mother had kissed his cheek as usual, ushering him out of the door. Today had been one of the rare days she had off. He remembered the smell of her perfume and the sound of her laugh as she closed the door behind him. He wanted to kill himself. He should have stayed behind! What was the point of school anyways? That eternal, aching fear in his gut that had wormed its way inside of him last night had lasted all day, and he knew this was it. Those men at the mall were not just saying random names. They meant his mother, Victoria Rush, who just happened to have had relations with his father, Desmond Miles.  
He entered the apartment, gasping as he saw the wreckage. Tables turned over, plates broken. Blood smeared the walls. A knife, obviously from the kitchen, lay on the floor, covered in gore. He looked around, towards the small living area, and noticed a large man, covered in black, dead on the floor. His throat was cut, and his hands were covering the wound as if he had attempted to staunch the flow of blood in his last seconds alive.  
So his mother knew how the handle a knife. He should have been surprised, but he wasn't. He was overwhelmed with fear and sadness and fury. He wanted to go after them; to kill them. He wanted to rescue his mother, more than anything. What did they want with her?! Why was she so special? Breaking down, he covered his face with his hands, not bothering to stop the tears. He hadn't cried since his father had been kidnapped; but he cried long and hard now. Worry creased the pit of his stomach as he reached for the knife; his mother's only weapon. Gripping it close, he shook with sobs, not hearing the creak of the door until he stood in front him.  
Standing up so fast he dizzied himself, he raised the knife, before realizing it was Darian. He was winded, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the ruined apartment. He looked at Zeke, who was still holding the knife out, ready to strike, tears stinging his eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps.  
"I…I don't know what ta say, bud." Darian said. "You…come with me to my place." Zeke shook his head. "I have to find her. I dunno, maybe they were looking for me." Darian laid a hand on his shoulder, looking worried. "You can't do that! Look…look at that guy over there!" He pointed at the dead man, his hand shaking. "You could end up like that." Zeke didn't care. He had to find his mother. He couldn't linger here.  
"No. I'm going after her. Somehow, I will find her." He felt older than he was; indeed, with the course of events, he was more a man then a boy now. Darian sighed; he knew when to give up. 

END OF CHAPTER 2 BITCHES!

It took him two days to prepare, two excruciating days of planning and waiting. He thought a lot, thought about what would happen to him when they found out he was skipping. Thought about how he would survive on the streets, and of course; thought out about where he would go. He and Darian frequently sat in the dining area of his apartment, still stinking from blood, but the corpse was gone; they'd moved him to the garbage can outside, piled it high with trash, and watched as the truck took him away.  
"What if they track us down?" Darian asked, his voice hollow. He was a big fan of those crime scene dramas on TV.  
"We'll be long gone." Zeke responded, his voice just as cold.  
They sat and planned where Zeke would go; Darian said he would follow soon, but he had so many brothers and sisters, he couldn't just leave them on short notice. Zeke frowned. He didn't want to intrude on Darian's family business, but it seemed his best and only friend had taken a personal interest in his plight.  
"I think you should head to Minneapolis first, get your bearings." Darian told him one evening, as they sifted through supplies. Zeke's head swam. He was a fifteen year old boy, for goodness sakes! He should be wooing girls, going to parties and struggling through school, not chasing some assholes who took his mom!  
"Do you think they'd stop in Minneapolis?" Zeke asked, his voice small, almost inadequate. Darian looked concern. His brown face, almost permanently tanned, was creased with worry.  
"I…did some research. There was a symbol on the car." He grabbed a sheet of paper, and drew a cross, like a plus sign, with juts at the tips. Zeke recognized it as the symbol of Knights Templar, a sect from hundreds of years ago.  
"Yeah?" He asked, unconcerned.  
"This the sign for the Templars, apparently. I didn't get too far, just some crazy guy on the street told me this." Zeke rolled his eyes.  
"And you think we can trust some 'crazy guy' on the street?" Darian shrugged.  
"It's better than nothing, Zeke." Zeke silently agreed.  
After a long time if planning and packing, Zeke headed out into the misty streets of Eastpointe, careful to avoid eye contact with any of the passerby, most of whom were wide eyed and world weary, stumbling from their crumbling homes to their places of work. He ducked into alleyways and ran up fences, his hands started to blister as he did so. Finally, after about an hour of trekking, he made it to Minneapolis; the Golden City of the State of Minnesota.  
He wrinkled his nose. Why it was the golden city, he didn't know. While parts of it were filled with majestic skyscrapers, other parts were akin to Eastpointe; crumbling, dirty, filled with filth and poverty. He stood for a moment, getting his bearings. He had to head to an area near the IDS building, said Darian.  
It was odd. He remembered Darian coming into the room, wringing his hands, holding a thick envelope, addressed to him, Zeke.  
"I just got cornered by the strangest people." He remarked, causing Zeke to swivel around in alarm.  
"No, they were alright. Weren' armed. A woman in the group came up and gave this envelope to me. Told me she knew I was a friend of yours." He handed Zeke the envelope, who slit it open with the same knife his mother had used. (He never let it out of his sight.) Inside was a large letter, hand written, along with a map. A strange symbol accompanied it, in the lower right hand corner, a curved triangle, with spiked embellishments; almost like a pointed hood. He let his eyes hover over the authors signature.  
"William Miles…" He mouthed. His mouth went dry. That was his name! Well, his last. Who was William? An Uncle?  
"What did they look like, these…strangers?" He asked, still glancing over the letter. It told him to meet him, William, on the roof of the IDS building in Minneapolis. Of course, Zeke was already heading there; he could check these people out.  
"Uh, one was tall. Grey hair, beard. Shiny eyes. A pretty woman, with black hair, didn't catch her eyes, and an obvious Brit; he wouldn't shut up." Darian counted on his fingers, letting them drop as he finished.  
"Odd…Did they say anything else?" Zeke was incredibly suspicious, but at the same time, intrigued. He wanted to meet this William Miles; regardless if it was a trap or not, and if it was? He inhaled sharply. He'd have to find way out.  
"No. Just told to give that to you. "The brit was obviously thinking I was a nigger though, or something. I don't know, he didn't trust me and kept saying this was a huge mistake." He shrugged. "Be careful, Zeke." He nodded, pocketing the letter and map.  
"I will."

He was on his way there now, bent low in his jacket, avoiding the stares of people on the street. He passed cozy looking cafes and sleepy bars. As it was around 9 in the morning, many of the businesses were just starting to open. Trucks beeped around him, and he was sprayed with exhaust as a semi turned a corner. Coughing, he looked up.  
The IDS building was the tallest building in Minnesota. It towered over the rest of its brothers, and the broadcasting antennas on its roof made it seem even taller. Zeke was sure he'd have to infiltrate the building to get to the roof; he doubted visitors were just allowed to waltz right in and climb up.  
It took him a couple more minutes to get to the building, all the while looking behind him, unease settling in the pit of his stomach. He was sure he was being watched. Gazing up at the building, he had a sudden sense of how small he was in comparison to the world. Shaking his head, looking around him once more for followers, he entered the grand lobby, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt tight over his head, concealing as much of himself as possible. He was just a youth on a sightseeing mission, that was all.  
He got lucky. He was small, and able to slip past sleepy security guards and busy secretaries easily, wending his way from pillars, ducking behind benches and statues, and finally got to the elevator bank. Unfortunately for him, there was no elevator directly to the roof. He'd have to take the elevator to the highest floor, and then find a roof access passage from there.  
He stood in the open for a few minutes, jittery and exposed, turning his head this way and that, sure that he wasn't allowed in this impressive office building. Finally, the elevator arrived, its doors creaking open with a seemingly deafening roar. Jumping in, he jimmied the closed doors button and hit the top floor, knowing it would be a long ride. He slid down the back of the car, fists over his eyes, massaging them.  
"What will I find? Who are they?" He murmured to himself as he climbed, watching the numbers pass before his eyes. 35, 36, 37…  
The elevator grunted to a stop at floor 57. Steeling himself, he prepared for a busy onslaught of people working and telephones ringing, but all was silent as he exited the elevator and the doors slid shut. Curious, he poked around the cubicles, wondering why no one was here, on a weekday. Perhaps this floor wasn't used as often as middle floors?  
After a few minutes of exploring, he remembered why he was here and started his search for a roof access door, sticking his head around the short cubicle walls, his ears pricked for any sound. All was silent however, and he finally found the door, cold and grey, with a red stamp across it. "ROOF ACCESS." Zeke shook his head slightly, and jiggled the door knob. It was locked. Cursing himself, he twisted it, harder this time, vainly trying to get it to give.  
Too bad Darian wasn't here. His friend could pick locks, both big and small, with the greatest ease. Zeke weighed his options: He had to get to the roof. How the people he was meeting got up to it lay in the back of his mind, and he felt that somehow, he was being tested. He could either break into the janitorial office and grab the key, or climb the rest of the way.  
Crossing to a window, he made the mistake of looking down. His heart leapt into his mouth as he saw the dizzying drop beneath him, hundreds of feet below. Cursing, he stepped back, looking up. It was only about 20 feet from where he was standing. He just needed a window that could open. He was lucky. Just to his left was a window that could slide open. Heaving himself out of the window, checking to make sure his feet were properly placed on the sill, and refusing to look down, he started to climb. He thanked the architects of the past. As the building was constructed in the 70s, the sleek glass look of usual skyscrapers hadn't been thought of yet. Still, the handholds were small, the air was cold, and he cursed these strangers and their need to meet in this obscure area. Why couldn't they meet in a caribou?  
Finally, with a giant sigh and a leap, he made it to the top. Clambering over the top, he noticed a large garage like structure, along with a long antenna, serving for communication. He turned around, and immediately stepped back. He was thousands of feet up; staring at cars the size of ants, people that were mere dots. Blinking, he turned around, suppressing a yelp of surprise. Three people had suddenly appeared, circling him. One was a thin woman, with shoulder length hair of jet black. Dressed in a skin tight track suit, with a headset around her ear, she reminded him of those kick ass computer nerds he'd seen in movies. Another man, dressed in a bulky sweater and thick glasses, had a strict uptight air to him. The third man, much older, reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place it where. They all were staring at him, almost sizing him up.  
"He's skinny." The sweater man remarked snidely. He had a thick British accent, and Zeke scowled. "Oh look, he's responds too."  
"Shut up Shaun." The woman barked. She held out her hand, and he grasped it.  
"Who…Who are you guys?" Zeke finally found his voice, and looked around.  
"We're…well..." The jet haired woman looked at the older man, who smiled halfheartedly at Zeke.

"I well…I didn't know you existed until recently, Zeke. I'm your grandfather. William Miles."  
Zeke was thunderstruck. So these mysterious people knew his father, obviously. Zeke found his voice.  
"Why did you make me climb all the way up here?" He said, continuing to scowl.  
"Secrecy is our biggest weapon. We can't just waltz into a Deer Coffee or whatever you Americans call it and talk." Shaun said, a sneer crossing his lips.  
"Ignore Shaun. He's an asshole. I'm Rebecca. It's…nice to meet you." She stepped back slightly, as if she couldn't say what she wanted to. His grandfather stepped in.  
"I'm sorry for all of this secrecy, Zeke." Zeke cut across him.  
"No. You're not. We could have met in any place, a run down ally, an underground shelter, but you choose here. Ok, I get that. Maybe you wanted to test me." He was rambling, but he didn't shut up. "I don't fucking care anymore. My mother was kidnapped and wounded and I want to know whats happened to her. Whats going to happen! DON'T JUST STAND THERE." He stamped his foot, his fists clenched beside him. A few pigeons that had been roosting took flight. He rounded on his grand father, who, despite being a few inches away from Zeke when he had started his shouting, hand't moved a muscle.  
"And you, standing there like you had no idea, no idea who I was…or what…" he broke off, panting.  
"I don't understand why Desmond didn't tell me about you earlier, Zeke." He said softly. Zeke closed his eyes, letting the anger wash over him. He couldn't let it control him like this. He had to let go. These people, whoever the hell they might be, were his only allies in this fight to regain his mother's freedom, and he had to trust them.  
"When did he tell you?"


End file.
